


The Ache of Her Song

by myadamantiumheart



Category: Avengers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myadamantiumheart/pseuds/myadamantiumheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has a delicate relationship with his bow, one that he doesn't think anyone else would understand. But then Steve wakes up in the twenty-first century, shield in hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ache of Her Song

At night, in the dark velvet of the shadows, she told him about the team. Fingertips slid over her curves, thumb slipping across her taut string, callouses on reinforced metal and polymers, and she sang for him. Lying across his chest as he sprawled in the whirlpool nest of blankets he’d created on his bed in Stark Tower, and he whispered his secrets to her in a lover’s voice.  She was his and he was hers, and he strung her sweetly with arrows as they went into battle together in their dreams, his breath evening out and the room stilling in the early hours of the morning.

\--

In the twilight times, sitting on the rooftop of the tower with her cupped in his arms, cradled on his lap, he would run his palm along her edge and she would sing, vibranium songs that he remembered from his own time, the sunset glinting golden off his hair and the past in his eyes. Her vibrations ran juddering up his arms, muscles twitching with the internal music they shared, and she laughed, high and fairy pitched in his mind as he murmured to her about their teammates. Steve smiled, a quirk of his expression and his lips pressed, pale against her cherry red rings.  And late in the night he polished her, cloth running smooth around her curves until she keened a passionate song in his ears and he pressed the cloth to his eyes, stomach tightening in reciprocity. She was his and he was hers, and they knocked the anger from the eyes of Hydra until the sun came up the next morning.

\--

And in the shuddering lights of the helicarrier, in the battles between them, _she_ and **she** knew each other until they cried kinship to their partners, and-

Steve and Clint suddenly became very aware that they were not the only warriors who spoke to their weaponry.

Circling each other in the dim light of the gym as _she_ cried and **she** shuddered and thumbs rested on star and string alike, their eyes locked- step forward, step forward, and breath slid hot across stubbled jawlines. Steve’s free hand reached out hesitantly, index finger drawing slowly across her curved grips, the elegant curve of her upwards tip, and Clint sucked in a breath. So quick- sharp and heavy with _something_.

“Beautiful,” Steve rasped, and the room resounded with the keening wail of vibranium knocking against alloy as he gently bumped their lovers together, pupils blown wide with her song. Clint’s callouses were rubbing across the star, the blue enamel, the warm leather of the _strap_ -

Their chests bumped and they were on their knees and **she** was cold against his thigh, _her_ string against _his_ hip and they were joined at the mouth, Steve’s preternaturally hot tongue _fucking_ his mouth in tune to his desperate moans-

Oh _god_ , those callouses, the ones Steve knew had been carefully roughened on the beautiful bow’s ridges, they were rubbing across his cock and bruising the slit with patient taps, slicking him down with the smell of beeswax and lemons. And Clint whined thickly against his throat when he toppled them backwards, straddling Steve and pushing his knee against her curves, against her _star_ \- He bucked up into Clint, hips pushing hard at the hot, dark place between his thighs, hands clutching at his ribs, his ass, the knock of his elbow on his lover’s curve sending vibranium shivers down his spine.

And she shuddered, juddered, shook in time with the rolling of Clint’s hips, with the ocean that was pulling them under as the bow and the shield _talked_ to them, _sung_ to them-

\--

In the morning they are bruised, kiss-bitten and Clint is sore from being knocked on the mats a few too many times by Steve’s passion. He curls closer to the super soldier in the cocoon of his blanket-nest, pillows on pillows on duvets on blankets on afghans, his leg thrown across Steve’s hips and his cheek over that race-horse heart. _She_ rests in the curve of his elbow, curled as he is, bent into her most compact shape and slumbering in the safety of his grip. **She** rests on Steve’s side, covering his shoulders, his cheek pressed to her curve and the star in her center strewn with the spun gold of his hair. **She** hums a vibranium lullaby, and-

He falls back asleep.


End file.
